Whilst scoffing mango and strawberries with my nephew the other day, I found myself thinking of my friends in Sicily with pity. This is the season when they have pretty much no fruit, you see. Oranges fizzle out in February, and then there’s basically nothing till May. Fruit and veg in season The idea of only … More Do you only eat fruit in season, or forced in greenhouses?

I used to think Italians were Catholics but, since living here, I have found out they are devout Pastafarians. If I make my Hubby go without eating pasta for an entire 24-hour period, he thinks he will die. He has been brainwashed since early childhood, you see. Forget vegetables! Italians are told that eating … More I Married a Pastafarian

I’m glad to have survived the heart thing, but surviving that hospital was more miraculous really. It turned into a series of Fear Factor. DAY 1 – Meeting the contestants Smell rating: Gorgonzola You need to read From my Sicilian Hospital Bed if you haven’t read that yet. There was no bidet or shower … More Home at Last!

You might think being in hospital isn’t very funny, but that’s just because you’ve never been in a Sicilian one. I came in yesterday because my heart was being naughty. Apparently I have ventricular tachycardia, which is the same arrhythmia that makes professional footballers drop dead right after winning an international tournament. “Perhaps you’re finally … More From my Sicilian Hospital Bed

In the UK, where I come from, medicine is something you swallow. In Italy, you cannot leave the doctor’s surgery with a prescription in your hand before asking the immortal question, “Into which orifice do I stick this?” Seriously, it could be any one of them. Over the years I have been prescribed things to … More Into which orifice do I stick this?

If queue-hopping were an Olympic sport, the Sicilians would win gold every time. Yet recently I beat them at their own game. My son has a massive amount of blood tests. We always go to the same clinic, as the people who work there are my friends. One of the men looks exactly like Johnny … More How to Queue-hop in front of a Sicilian

At the start of this year, I started home schooling my little lad. I had always thought home schooling was for people who like wearing Medieval clothes and re-enacting the Battle of Hastings in French at weekends, or who have been preparing their child, since before birth, to do a maths degree at Harvard aged … More Dyslexic Home-Schooling Horror Hits the Housewife

I had to have a little operation recently. It was preceded by some blood tests in the nearest hospital, called Ospedale Buccheri La Ferla Fatebene Fratelli. The Sicilians are good at coming up with catchy names that way. Buccheri and La Ferla are the names of the founders. The Fatebene Fratelli translates as “The Do Good … More The Do-Good Brothers

A wonderful guest post called Sicily vs. England, written for my blog by Pecora Nera, turned out to be so popular that it inspired another great Sicilian blogger, Rochelle Del Borello of Unwilling Expat, to write this article – Sicily vs. Australia – for my blog. ***** The beauty of experiencing different cultures is seeing how they … More Sicily vs. Australia

I described, in my previous post, the sanctuary of Saint Rosalia, which is a baroque church facade with a drippy cave behind it. Now I’ll tell you about her amazing life. Santa Rosalia was born in about 1130, when Sicily was ruled by the Normans. The king was Roger the Second. I’ve been inside his … More The Life and Adventures of Santa Rosalia, Patron Saint of Palermo

All over the world, there exists the myth of a “Healthy Mediterranean Diet,” which everyone is urged to emulate for the sake of their arteries. The Mayo Clinic (which always makes me think of Mayonnaise, anyone else?) says on its website: “Mediterranean diet: Choose this heart-healthy diet option” A cursory search on the Internet will … More The Mediterranean Diet – how to do it properly

Sorry I haven’t written any posts for so long. I’ve been too busy mopping up puke. My little boy has vomited almost every day for the last three months. The house smells like a bleach factory, and I am buying new mops from the local hardware store so often that the cashier there thinks I … More La Traviata and the Italian Art of being ill Dramatically